


A Witness To My Sins

by 2sdaynight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bipolar din djarin, the religious undertones of it all... lol....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29509941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2sdaynight/pseuds/2sdaynight
Summary: He feels like he should ask one day, why this is allowed. Why someone like him should be treated with the same softness that the Jedi offers to his family, and more. Is this okay? He should really ask… but he’s terrified whatever magic the Jedi has been using to create this idyllic life he’s found for himself on Yavin IV will wear off the moment he acknowledges it all out loud.It’s something that nags on him, however, the idea that he is taking something that doesn't belong to him. As though the happiness he feels around the Jedi should be going to someone else. Anyone else. It’s not something he can dwell on long before he starts feeling sick.(a short din study of sorts...)
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 105





	A Witness To My Sins

**Author's Note:**

> before you start flaming me my ask box has anonymous off so listen up: i wrote this to have fun and study Din i do not care if confessional booths exist in star wars or not let me have my religious analogy i was FORCED to go catholic school and i will make everyone else suffer because of it. 
> 
> anyways. i hope you enjoy also bipolar character of the day is din djarin

It felt like being in a confessional booth, sitting alone in the Jedi’s room. Like waiting to lay your sins bare to a stranger for the sake of salvation. Maybe that’s exactly what this was. As it is, the Jedi's hands on his skin feel like a salvation in of themselves, and the presentation of that skin was his most disgusting sin yet. 

What was it like, he wondered, to have the healing touch of the Jedi, instead of these hands that ache… instead of hands used for hurting. He had asked once, in a way that didn’t sound quite so pathetic, and the Jedi’s eyes went glassy for a moment too long, a moment too telling.

“As many men that I’ve saved, I’ve put twice as many in an early grave.” he had said. All Din could do was give an understanding nod, although he couldn't help but notice the disconnect. 

The Jedi’s ghosts haunt him, he’s a good man who feels guilty for killing. Din’s ghosts are nameless, faceless… they linger like a tar in his stomach, a formless conglomerate forcing bile up his throat that prevents him from speaking the way the Jedi speaks. Like he’s truly in mourning for every life lost, like he felt their death personally, and each and every one shook him to his core. 

Din couldn't fake that type of guilt if he tried. 

And shouldn’t he feel guilty? Would he ever have? What was there beneath his current self, the man before the man he is now, and would he have felt guilty… could that man have placed himself in concert with the Jedi? 

He knew this line of questioning would be fruitless, however. If you were to take him apart, break him down to his core, he knows you would never find that scared child that he was right before the rescue. He thinks maybe that version of himself died in that cellar, and a new being entirely emerged from it with the help from his saviors. He didn’t owe the creed his life, he owed every fiber of his being to it… as is, he wouldn’t exist without it. 

Maybe that’s why this felt so sickening. Waiting to see the Jedi in this circumstance… to be seen by him, so fully. It was always right before, in these moments alone, that he felt most like a man hiding from the scrutiny of a vengeful God. It wasn’t until the Jedi was with him that he could feel more at ease. The roof above him providing sanctuary, the Jedi’s gentle words of encouragement as absolution. 

His helmet was already off, placed gently on the small dresser across from the bed where he was sitting. Some days, he let the Jedi remove it himself, and others he knows he couldn’t bear the tenderness of the Jedi’s hands on the beskar. Something almost reverent in the way he lingers on certain areas, something definitely reverent in the way he’ll pull Dins forehead against his own for a moment, pressing with a solid reaffirming weight before removing the helmet with such care it was as though he had been trained to properly handle it the same way Din had. 

Today was one of the latter, having already removed his armor as well for the same reasons. It was hard to see the Jedi treat the beskar so well… harder still when he remembered how the very act of removal was so disrespectful.

Today Din felt the need for atonement, and disallowing himself to lay witness to the act of worship the Jedi had turned armor removal into in these moments felt like a sort of penance. It was not something he deserved to be on the receiving end of. 

He feels like he should ask one day, why this is allowed. Why someone like him should be treated with the same softness that the Jedi offers to his family, and more. Is this okay? He should really ask… but he’s terrified whatever magic the Jedi has been using to create this idyllic life he’s found for himself on Yavin IV will wear off the moment he acknowledges it all out loud. 

It’s something that nags on him, however, the idea that he is taking something that doesn't belong to him. As though the happiness he feels around the Jedi should be going to someone else. Anyone else. It’s not something he can dwell on long before he starts feeling sick.

The Jedi, ever kind, ever merciful, relieves Din of this train of thought by entering the room. 

It’s almost blinding, looking directly at the Jedi with no barrier, and part of Din wishes he had kept his helmet on. Sometimes he has to look away for a moment, and give himself a chance to breathe before taking in the sight before him. 

“Din.” 

The Jedi addresses him softly, almost as though trying not to scare away a wounded animal. He supposes that’s not too far off from how he feels, and wonders if the man before him is picking on that fact with his magic Jedi powers. 

He hums as a way of reply, too in his own head to manage a proper greeting. 

The small smile he receives in turn is warm and welcoming, and felt like something else Din couldn't quite place with words. Maybe one day he could identify this as the feeling of coming home, but for now he will continue to search for the words, only to fall short once more. 

“It’s good to see you,” he spoke softly, “I was hoping I would find you here.”

He says it's like a novelty, like finding Din in his bed is some kind of miracle. Like it wasn’t entirely inevitable, for Din to find himself in this room time and time again, as if it were the altar to his God and he were showing up dutifully for prayer. 

With a careful stride the Jedi crowds himself into Din’s space, slotting himself between Din’s knees and looking down at the man before him. His hands, too gentle for how calloused they are, reach up to hold Din’s face, cradling him like something precious. 

It almost hurts… his bare skin feels like an open wound sometimes, and even the Jedi's gentle touch is  _ too much too much too much.  _ He lets out a soft whine at the simple touch, feeling a bit pathetic as he leans into it just as much as he shies away.

Taking Pity on him, or maybe being cruel, the Jedi moves his hands to Din’s neck, covered by the cloth of his turtleneck to avoid touching most of his skin, if not for his thumbs rubbing soft and slow circles into Din’s jaw. 

He can’t help that his eyes flutter shut at the contact, really he can’t… but that doesn't mean he's prepared for the feeling of a pair of lips pressing against his forehead after he does. He grabs onto the others wrists, as though needing to stabilize himself despite being seated. 

“ _ Cyar'ika _ .” He chokes out, because anything less felt like a disservice to the Jedi… to Luke. Besides, saying the name leaves an ache in his chest he can’t shake loose, and he has enough aches and pains as is. 

The Jedi's smile is enough to light up an entire planet, possibly two.

“ _ Su'cuy _ .” he says, and Din has long since forgotten how to bring himself to care about the butchered pronunciation, instead focusing on the marvel of the other man saying it at all. 

“ _ Hi _ .” Din says in response, trying to sound teasing if not for his voice quivering in a very genuine overflow of emotion. 

His hands find Luke's hips, and he allows himself to pull the other even closer, wrapping his arms around his middle, and resting his chin on the toned abdomen to gaze up at the twin sun before him. 

“Where were you today?” the sun asks. “The younglings missed seeing you around the temple.”

Din chooses to ignore the question entirely, “They just missed seeing how many of them I can carry to their next class at once.”

The responding laugh is like the chorus of Din’s favorite song, and he can't help but give Luke's middle a tight squeeze. 

“Hmmm maybe so… but I know I missed you, as did Grogu.” 

The very name tugged at his heartstrings, and Din found himself hiding his face in the Jedi’s stomach to avoid the unbridled emotion of thinking about his  _ ad’ika _ while looking at his  _ cyar'ika _ . Too much that he didn't deserve. 

Luke doesn’t attempt to dislodge him, and instead opts for carding one hand through Din’s thick curls of hair while the other rubs soothingly into his back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, and the question itself feels like such a novelty. Someone asking him if he wanted to discuss how he was feeling was still so new, he didn’t know when he would get accustomed to the concept. 

His body wasn't made for touching and his voice wasn't made for speaking, and at this point he's unsure how many lines he’s crossed in terms of both that a man like him was never supposed to reach. He finds himself at a loss for words most days, in most situations… able to say the right thing in order to reach the conclusion of whatever was causing discussion, and not much else at all. 

Sometimes after talking with Luke, his throat feels raw, as though he’s overworking an under used muscle. 

“....I need to leave Yavin IV.” He lies. He needs to say it sometimes, just to pretend he still has the option. He needs to feel like he hasn’t taken too much from someone far too willing to give, like he can get away from the responsibility of being seen so openly. 

Luke knows this lie well, and Din wonders briefly, silently, what the other man would do if he were to follow through with it one day, to pack up and leave before Luke inevitably left him. The thought is both fleeting and sickening.

“Without Grogu and I? Sounds like a lonely trip.” 

And ‘Oh…’ Din thought. ‘Isn’t it just that simple?’ 

“You wouldn’t want to go where I’m going.” He says, always looking to give Luke an out. The Jedi deserved better… he constantly tries to give the Jedi something  _ better  _ than himself.

“I would follow you anywhere.” Luke says easily, as though it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

Maybe it is that obvious and simple. Din had a tendency to overcomplicate things in an attempt to simplify them, finding problems where there shouldn't be, and even he had to admit he had been itching for a problem lately. 

Slowly, he feels Luke's hands move to cup his face, nudging his jaw so that Din is looking up into those beautiful eyes, taking his breath away for just a second too long. 

“Din?” He says, and the Mandalorian has to marvel for a moment at how Luke's mouth handles his name with the same reverence that his hands do with beskar. “Will you stay? Please?”

He says it as though it’s a real question, and maybe that's what pushes Din to abrupt honesty… The idea that Luke Skywalker is worried about losing him. 

“Anything for you, Little Prince.” 

It really is worth it, to see the Jedi’s face turn a bright red and watch him sputter around some response about Leia being the only royal twin. Din notes the reaction for later use, grabbing Luke's right hand on his face and turning just enough to kiss the gloved palm. 

This causes an end to Luke's choppy rebuttal, the man going silent before his expression grows impossibly fond. 

“Then kiss me.” He requests. 

And so Din does. 

**Author's Note:**

> okay thank youuu for reading, please leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed! my tumblr is @showpig and my art blog is @2sdaynight so feel free 2 hit me up with dinluke head canons or prompts! also no being mean about grammer i have adhd and i stayed up real late writing this and then refused to wait for a beta to post.


End file.
